Perfectly Content
by dear runaway
Summary: “If you ever want to come with me to the cemetery sometime, maybe the four of us can have a picnic.” Set between 403 and 404. NathanPeyton friendship.


"_If you ever want to come with me to the cemetery sometime, maybe the four of us can have a picnic." _

Drabble fic, that doesn't really make any sense. I haven't seen season four in a long time, but this quote just stuck out to me. This is a NathanPeyton friendship fic, in which it's Peyton opening up to Nathan, instead of the other way around like it usually is.**Oneshot.**

I don't own OTH.

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**PERFECTLY CONTENT.**

His soft footsteps trail along the path, quietly making himself known as he walks forward and into her direction. His hair is ruffled by the wind, the breeze sliding across him as he stuffs his hands into his pockets for warmth he knows he will not get. He smiles at her once she notices him, quite cockily but with some clear disarray. He doesn't know what made him walk over here once he had been done paying his respects for Keith; Anna Sawyer did not, and would never, know him and he sure as hell didn't know her. But he knows the person sitting in front of her grave and something inside him told him that she'd be here today.

"Where's the picnic basket, Nate?"

She's laughing without emitting a sound, but he sees the question locked inside of her eyes. He shrugs, looking down at her knelt position in front of her adopted mother's stone.

"I kind of figured you'd cook, Sawyer."

She shrugs, her lips quirking. "Should have known you'd still be all talk but no action."

He hesitates for a while, but then bends down and sits next to her. Silence overtakes them, but he's comfortable with it, comfortable with just sitting there and not having to talk or explain how he's feeling. Still, he knew he'd get the question, and he was prepared.

"How are you, Nathan?"

"Better."

"What about you and Brooke?"

"Better."

She's mocking him, and he knows she's telling absolute shit. So he tries again.

"That's bull."

Peyton falls still for a while and her gaze lands on her mother's grave, looking as though she was deep in thought. He's prepared for another one of her lies, the ones she fed him while they were still dating. Instead, she licks her lips and tilts her head towards him.

"When I found out I had a brother, I was so happy," she tells him, rather plainly at that, and he wonders where she's going with this. "I was so happy that I was dialling Brooke's number without realising she had just ended our friendship the day before. I was so happy that I didn't think she'd still be mad if she found out I had a brother. I was so happy that I thought she'd be happy for me, with me." She pauses, smiling a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I never had a brother. And Derek, he's great. But I was so terrified. I needed my best friend."

He frowns, still unsure what she was getting at. While he knew that Brooke was pretty pissed at the blonde, he didn't know why, he didn't want to know why – girl's trouble, who needed it? – but he had just figured Brooke was being her dramatic self and would get over it.

She smiles at him, eyes glossing over. "I needed my best friend, and she called my mother a whore."

He feels shocked. He hadn't expected that, not from Brooke. Hell, he wouldn't even have expected that from Rachel. Okay, so maybe that was a lie, but they had been best friends since they were _nine_. He recalled being blown off for dates just so his ex-girlfriend could spend some quality time with Brooke even though they already spent every minute of the day together.

She shrugs, this time with less emotion. "So I figured I can be happy on my own."

He vaguely tells himself that this is the longest conversation he ever got out of her mouth, and that, for once; she has opened up to him. He bites on his bottom lip, and then nods his head. "I figure you can."

He pauses.

"I also figure that you don't need to."

Another moment of silence passes them, and he watches her carefully to see her response.

After what seems a lifetime, she suddenly leans over and bumps her shoulder against his playfully, almost as if to say thanks.

He knows it's about time for supper, but he decides to stay. Just for a little while, before he had to go back, before he allowed himself to be consumed by thoughts of Keith, before he ignored his wife's attempt of warning him about Rachel, and before he had to act as thought nightmares about his crash didn't haunt him.

For now, he's perfectly content.


End file.
